If Empty Seats Could Talk
by Jay Busbee

Atlanta has two October baseball traditions: the Braves will make the playoffs, and nobody will show up when they do. This year's divisional series with Houston has been more of the same — 8,000 unsold tickets (about 15 percent of Turner Field's capacity) at the first two games. Broadcasters have trotted out the usual one-liners: "Braves fans have come disguised as empty seats!" and other knee-slappers. But are Atlanta's fans really the worst in baseball? Isn't it possible that maybe there's more to this than simple civic laziness?

Braves fans often skip playoff games, and we don't cheer when we do go. Fans in other cities work themselves into weeklong fits of postseason ecstasy; we leave in the seventh to beat traffic. And when those opposing fans show up in Turner Field — the cost of an AirTran flight and a face-value ticket still beats prices charged by scalpers in their hometown — we meekly grumble as they and their teams walk all over us. Since beating the Mets in the 1999 National League Championship Series, the Braves are 4-11 at home over seven series, including this year's split of the first two games against Houston.

But there's more to this than meets the eye. Just look at what keeps Atlanta fans from the ballpark and then ask yourself if there isn't a little Braves fan in all of us.

The Heimlich Factor: Everybody knows the numbers — 13 division championships, exactly one world championship. And all the platitudes about "more division championships than any team in the history of sport" and "sustained greatness in an age of free agency" don't mean a thing when you only got one ring. And the Braves' losses have gone from dramatic — the classic 1991 World Series with the Minnesota Twins — to the recent pathetic string of division-series losses.

"Braves fans aren't diehard!" spits "Michael," a scalper outside Turner Field before Wednesday's divisional series opener against the Astros. "And it's 'cause they're tired of the team losing so many playoffs every fucking year!" (As for the scalping market? "Dead. Ain't sold nothing," he growls before asking, "You police?")

The Pizza Factor: Make no mistake, Braves fans love being in the postseason every year. Problem is, it's led to what 680: The Fan radio host John Kincade calls "the pizza theory." "You remember when you were in college, and you'd be just starving, and you'd get a pizza?" he says. "And that first slice — man, that was the best pizza you'd ever tasted. But after the third, fourth slice, well-you start getting tired of pizza."

"We're doing our best to get the fans going," says Ryan Butler of Atlanta, who along with buddies Austin Moore and Jason Hawkins comprises Estrada's Enchiladas, a sombrero-and-bandito-mustached fan club for catcher Johnny Estrada. And while the Enchiladas may have gone a little too heavy on the tequila this afternoon — "Can you get us on TV?" they ask — their passion is a rare thing among the scattered patrons of the left-field upper deck.

"Maybe if the Braves missed a few playoffs, it'd change some minds," says Laura Kane, a Houston fan now living in Atlanta. She and her husband are sitting in the right-field upper deck; there's nobody within 50 seats in any direction. "On the other hand, it is nice to be able to spread out."

The Gridlock Factor: You could not pick a worse place in the city of Atlanta for a baseball stadium. Turner Field rests in the middle of a rat's nest of highways and is a mile from the nearest subway station. Getting to the ballgame for a 4 p.m. start requires leaving sometime around dawn.

"It's this 4 o'clock start," says Josh Ramsey of Newnan, Ga. "If it'd been at 7, this would have been a sellout, no doubt." Josh is a big guy with red and blue airbrushed onto his face, and it's entirely possible that some of the paint may have reached his bloodstream because his love for the Braves verges on the obsessive. "I've caught 8 of 13 [division] clinching games. I've seen over a thousand games. This is the year, man. I can feel it!"

The Vick Factor: For more than a decade, the Braves towered above the rest of Atlanta's sports teams like Yao Ming in a locker room full of jockeys. And then the Atlanta Falcons landed a one-two punch on Los Bravos, ditching their moribund owners and drafting Michael Vick, the most exciting player in pro football. The Braves' slow-and-steady pennant grind suddenly became obsolete, and the Falcons are now the hottest ticket in town.

"[Falcons owner] Arthur Blank knew what he was doing," says Tom Madison of Alpharetta, a current Falcons — and former Braves — season ticket holder. "He saw that people weren't coming to the games, so he changed everything. The Braves just keep on doing the same thing with the same kinds of players, and it just doesn't work any more."

OK, you've heard the rationale. Some convincing arguments, yes? Problem is, even Atlanta fans know they're just cheap cop-outs. "It's so disappointing, the way the city takes this all for granted now," Kincade says. "Back in '91, '92, there'd be 'Good luck Braves' signs everywhere. Kids would have 'Braves Days' at school. I'm very surprised that it's so old hat. If you want to be considered a top-notch sports town, you've got to show up when the spotlight's on your town."

Don't look to the Braves players to speak up. David Justice did just that before the sixth game of the '95 World Series, and learned that it actually is possible to rile up Atlanta fans. "If we get down 1-0," he said, "they will probably boo us out of the stadium. You would have to do something great to get them out of their seats." The fans booed Justice mercilessly, but he responded by hitting the homer that won the Braves their only World Series.

It's those kinds of stories that drive postseason-deprived fans in other cities absolutely insane. What can we say? After all this winning, we've grown fat, lazy, and content, and chances are you would, too. Call us when you're in 13 straight postseasons, and we'll find out. Until then, feel free to stop by Turner Field any October. We can always use more bodies in the seats.

E-mail Jay Busbee at jay dot busbee at comcast dot net.